


The Honesty’s Too Much

by Pamela Rose (pamela_rose)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamela_rose/pseuds/Pamela%20Rose
Summary: Kirk is assaulted by some very bad men.  Spock gives comfort.Meanwhile, the reader is assaulted by some very bad early fan writing. :)  Even Spock can't fix that.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	The Honesty’s Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1979, published in Nome #4 (1981).

“Bones, would you kindly get off my back,” Kirk grumbled cheerfully as he walked with McCoy to the hangar deck. “We’ll rendezvous with the _Enterprise_ in two days. Surely you can get along without me that long.”

“I just can’t believe you’re passing up shore leave on K-4 to go on some courier assignment with Spock. It’s not natural.”

Kirk shrugged. “If you I’ve seen one space station . . . Besides, didn’t you ever consider the possibility that I enjoy his company?”

“So tell me something new,” McCoy replied ruefully. “I’m beginning to think you two are Siamese twins or something, the way you I’ve been hanging around together these last few months.”

Kirk grinned. “I find him ‘intellectually stimulating’ . . . and he has a terrific sense of humor.” He chuckled. “You should hear some of his comments about you.”

He laughed at McCoy’s offended expression, and went through the doors to the shuttle bay. Spock was waiting by the hatch of the _Columbus_.

He nodded to Kirk and McCoy as they approached. “Are you ready, Captain?”

“Now wait a minute,” McCoy stalled. He was still hoping Jim might change his mind and take shore leave after all. The Captain needed the diversion more than any of them. “You still haven’t explained why you can’t just send this message through normal channels. Why does Spock have to deliver it personally?”

“There have-been some indications that the Klingons may have broken the code,” Kirk explained patiently. “Even if it’s high speed and scrambled, we can’t take the chance that it might be intercepted.”

“The equations may be of vital importance to the development of a new planetary defence system,” Spock put in. “Since I have an eidetic memory for mathematics, it seemed the most reliable course for me to deliver the formula to Starbase 4.”

“And,” McCoy added dryly, “of course you were the only one in the area capable of doing the job.”

The Vulcan eyebrow lifted haughtily. “The formula is top security material, and being both lengthy and quite complicated—”

“A mere Human couldn’t be depended on to deliver it accurately, right?” McCoy finished, tossing a twinkle of glee at Kirk.

Kirk smiled in return. “Well, Bones, it _is_ important, and it’s silly to risk sending it subspace when we have a couple of free days anyway. It seems . . .” he returned the doctor’s twinkle, “. . . logical.”

“It knocks you out of shore leave,” McCoy complained.

Spock turned quickly to Kirk. “Captain , if you would rather—?”

“No.” Kirk flashed a warning look at McCoy. I’d really prefer to go with you. I’m not much in the mood for carousing with McCoy right now.”

“Understandable,” Spock said wryly, and ignored the dirty look the doctor threw at him. “Are you ready to depart?”

Kirk nodded and followed Spock into the shuttlecraft. “See you in a couple of days, Bones,” he called back over his shoulder.

* * *

Kirk had been quite honest when he told McCoy he enjoyed Spock’s company. He did, very much, although he’d never been able to put his finger on exactly why. Superficially they had very different temperaments and very little in common. But what had begun as respect had grown into something else over the years, to create a tie between them that neither fully understood, but both gratefully accepted.

Both were essentially lonely men: Kirk, because he had chosen command and the intrinsic loneliness that came with it; Spock, because he seemed to have no choice—it was part of what he was. Until Kirk, he had always accepted the fact that that was the way it had to be with him—always alone, always apart. But Jim had changed that, not with dramatic suddenness, but slowly, subtly.

Just when the realization came, Spock was never sure, but for the first time in his life, he felt accepted, cared for, even . . . cherished. And not only for his talent and intellect or for what he was expected to be, but simply for what he was as an individual. It was such a calm, warm sensation that Spock had often caught himself forgetting his Vulcan training and simply basking in the sentiment. It was disquieting at times, but decidedly pleasant.

Spock was exceptionally pleased that Jim had chosen to accompany him instead of seeking the diversions of the space station, but he wasn’t totally surprised. This wasn’t the first time in the last few months that the Captain had sought his companionship over his other more typical pursuits.

Spock glanced over at the Human, a smile playing on his mouth. “Dr. McCoy appeared quite disappointed you decided not to take shore leave with him. I gather he had specific plans?”

Kirk grinned, eyes dancing mischievously. “Bones always has plans. Most of which I wouldn’t want to tell my mother about.” He chuckled. “In your case, I doubt if you’d want to tell your father, either.”

Spock raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I am sure my father would be fascinated.”

Kirk chuckled as he checked the instruments, then settled back contentedly in his chair. “It’s kind of nice to get away from the ship for a while.”

Spock regarded him with concern, wondering if the responsibilities of command were weighing heavier than usual. Kirk seemed to catch his thought, and he shook his head. “No, it’s nothing in particular. It’s just good to be able to relax. Not to have to worry about anyone but you and me. It’s a nice change.”

Spock checked the chronometer. “We will be arriving at Starbase 4 in 3.9 hours.” He hesitated. “Jim, once I convey the equations to Dr. Morishumi, we should have several hours before we need to start back for the rendezvous point. Perhaps, if you wish, we could—”

Kirk smiled. “So you have plans, to , huh?”

Spock’s dark eyes sparkled with humor. “Nothing compared to Dr. McCoy’s, I am quite sure.”

“Thank god! I don’t think I’m ready for the sight of you wearing a lampshade and singing ‘Camptown Races.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind, it’s an inside joke. What do you have in—” Kirk broke off as he noted an object on the scanner. “What’s that? There isn’t supposed to be any traffic in this area, is there?”

Spock inspected the blip, and adjusted the sensors. “No. This course was selected specifically for that purpose. While this is relatively safe space, it seemed wiser to avoid . . .” He trailed off, his gaze shifting to the screen in front of them. “It is definitely a ship, and approaching at warp 3. It should intersect our course in six point three minutes. From the configuration, I would say it is an Orion trading vessel.”

Kirk snorted in disgust. “That explains it, then. They don’t give a damn about regulations or flight plans.”

His distaste was evident and quite warranted. Orions were the scavengers of the galaxy, little more than semi-legal pirates. While they were—marginally—members of the Federation, they had little regard for any of its laws that did not benefit them. They spoke sugary words at Council sessions, then turned about and acted exactly the opposite Somehow they were always clever enough to make it impossible to prove they were involved in anything more than slightly shady.

“Let’s change course and get out of their way,” Kirk remarked dryly. “I get a little nauseous when I’m too close to them.”

Spock didn’t bother to point out that that was illogical, for he felt much the same—IDIC did not necessarily require approval, merely acceptance. “Agreed,” he said, then added, “but I cannot help feeling uneasy that they happened to select this particular route.”

Kirk shrugged. “Probably delivering some green slave girls to the mining colonies . . . or something equally sordid.”

Spock looked momentarily amused. “I never realized you were quite so fastidious, Captain.”

The Human grinned ruefully. “Well, I’m not usually. But anything they are involved in makes me feel a bit queasy. It’s one prejudice I can’t shake—”

“Jim,” Spock cut in, “they are slowing, altering course to intercept us again.”

“What? Why?”

The shuttlecraft jerked sharply. They stared at each other, startled. “Tractor beam,” Spock said needlessly.

“What the hell do they think they’re doing?” Kirk asked furiously. “Hijacking an ore freighter or a cargo ship is one thing, but a Starfleet shuttle is insane.” He paused, puzzled. “What would they want with a shuttlecraft anyway?”

“Unknown. Unless they—”

“Know about the equations?” Kirk finished. He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, Spock. Even if they had found out about it, it just isn’t the type of thing they go in for. They don’t have the scientists to make use of it, for one thing.”

“No, but information can be sold,” Spock pointed out, troubled.

“Damn! Open frequency—”

“I have tried; communications are being jammed. The emergency signal may have gotten through. If so, the _Enterprise_ may be able to trace it back to us.”

“I hope so,” Kirk muttered. “This doesn’t look like it’s going to be a whole lot of fun.”

A transporter beam caught them before Spock could reply. They materialized in an Orion ship with none of the smoothness of the _Enterprise_ transporters.

Kirk checked to see if he’d arrived in one piece, wondering what Bones would have had to say about that. Orion vessels were definitely not renowned for their superior engineering; at times one had to wonder what held them together at all. He glanced at Spock to make sure he was all right. He seemed to be—although he was a bit greener than usual. Obviously the process had been unsettling to him as well.

Kirk stepped off the platform angrily. “What the hell’s going on? Where’s your Captain?”

“Right here, Captain James Kirk.” A flamboyantly attired, rather pudgy figure approached them from the side, weapon leveled steadily. “Welcome, gentlemen. I am Rab, Captain of this vessel.”

“Why did you bring us here?” Kirk demanded, ignoring the weapon. “You’re risking a lot by detaining us. Why?”

The Orion looked Kirk over carefully, appreciatively. Kirk suddenly felt oddly uncomfortable under the inspection. “I think the reasons would be better explained by my guest.” He motioned to a door. Both of you, through there.”

Kirk tossed a warning glance to Spock, who acknowledged it. Now seemed the best chance they would have to get the upper hand. With Spock alerted, he prepared to spin around once through the door and disarm the Orion. But what met his eyes in the other room drove the plan from his mind.

“Kor!”

The Klingon stepped forward and bowed sarcastically. “We meet again, dear Captain. Somehow, I always suspected we would. We didn’t really have the opportunity to properly finish our confrontation the last time, did we?”

Kirk turned to the Orion. “So you’re working for the Klingons? I should have guessed. Slimy characters usually draw more slimy characters. You don’t really think you’ll get away with this, do you?”

Kor laughed. “Why not? The Organians are not omnipotent, you know. And they don’t care what little intrigues we engage in, as long as it doesn’t intrude on their putridly peaceful existence. As for your Federation, well, they are, shall we say, a bit slow to catch on to these things. No, Captain Kirk, I do not believe we have a great deal to worry about, at least for some time.”

“What do you want?” Kirk asked sullenly.

“I think you know very well. Let us not play games; we don’t have that much time to waste. It will save us all a great deal of trouble if you will simply order your First Officer to give me the formula now.”

Kirk kept his face carefully bland. “Formula? What formula? You _are_ wasting your time. We were on our way to R&R—”

“My patience is wearing thin, Kirk,” Kor interrupted sharply. “Do not make it harder on yourself.”

Kirk smiled with false sweetness. “Go to hell, Kor.”

“But we do not have a hell, Kirk.” The last trace of amusement faded from the Klingon’s eyes. “However, you do, and you may see it sooner than you anticipated. This is no game. I will have that information by whatever method it requires. I found you a worthy opponent at our last encounter, but the situation is even more in my favor this time, and there will be no reprieves. You cannot win.”

Kirk remained silent. Kor turned to Spock. “I take it you are also planning resistance? An unwise decision. You may regret it.”

Spock met his gaze impassively. “How can you be positive that such a formula exists, or is merely a ruse to draw you into disrupting the Treaty?”

“We have our sources. The formula exists, and you and the Captain were sent to deliver it.”

“What ‘sources’?” Kirk asked lightly. “That sounds pretty vague.”

“Do you think the Federation is the only one employing spies? Surely you are not so naive.”

“Not naive enough to believe everything a spy would tell me. Looks like this one sold you a large chunk of imagination, Kor.”

“On the contrary, Captain. This one is extremely reliable—and extremely loyal to the Empire. As you well know, for Spock is carrying the truth of it.”

“What I cannot comprehend,” Spock remarked, “is why the Klingon Empire would be so interested in an unproven formula that it would order one of its commanders to go to such lengths to obtain it. It would seem illogical to risk disrupting an unstable détente with the Federation for such an ambiguous reward.”

“Ah, but you see, the Empire is not involved at this time. I have a personal stake in this. My failure on Organia was noted and hardly appreciated by my government. They do not care about reasons, only results. My career since then has taken something of a decline, as you might imagine. Bringing this tidy bit of information back just might retrieve some of my status.” The steely gaze moved back to Kirk. “And it also settles old scores.”

“Gee, I’m awful sorry to hear about your difficulties,” Kirk said derisively, “but I don’t think we can be of much help.”

“On the contrary; you can be of immense assistance—willingly or otherwise. I suggest you choose the less-painful course option.”

“I hate to keep repeating myself, but go to hell, Kor.”

Without warning, the Klingon backhanded Kirk, hard, across the mouth. The Human straightened, eyes flashing. “That’s a good start. What’s next?”

“A very great deal, I’m afraid, if you refuse to cooperate.” He motioned to the Klingon guards, who grabbed Kirk’s arms roughly, while another jammed the point of a disrupter into Spock’s side to keep him from interfering.

“You are a very stubborn wolf, Kirk,” Kor mused. “Or should I call you Barona? The last time we met, you were a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Let us see what the wolf looks like without any clothing. Strip him.”

Spock took a quick step forward, but the disrupter dug into his side once more, and he was unable to do anything but watch Kirk’s futile battle with the guards.

“Wait,” the Vulcan protested. “You know he does not have the information you want. There is no reason to harm him.”

“You are quite right, Vulcan,” Kor answered him with a feral smile. “But, unfortunately, you are a Vulcan, and there is no way we can physically force you to talk. You proved surprisingly resistant to our mindsifter before, therefore we cannot risk a higher setting, or the equations we want may be destroyed also. No, Spock, the only way to get to you is through him.”

“It won’t work!” Kirk gasped, still breathless from his struggle with the guards. “He won’t tell you anything.”

But Kor had noticed Spock tense when he had struck Kirk. He moved to the Human and lifted the defiant chin in his hand. “Will he not? I think you are wrong. I think I have discovered a Vulcan’s weakness—this particular Vulcan, at least. It will be interesting to see how much it takes to break you both.”

“You won’t break either of us,” Kirk snapped, jerking his face away.

“We shall see.” He turned to Spock. “You will have to decide just how important that information is to you compared to your Captain. Kel, take him away. Let me know if he changes his mind. I will join you presently.”

Kirk and Spock exchanged a long look, and Kirk smiled slightly, giving the Vulcan an encouraging nod that spoke volumes. It wasn’t necessary for him to give any orders, for Spock knew what was expected of him—no matter what happened.

Kor saw both the look and Spock’s hesitation. “Do not worry, Vulcan. You will see your Captain again—although whether he will be able to see you or not is questionable. That will be entirely up to you.”

They took Spock out, and Kor turned back to the Human. The Orion trader caught at the Klingon’s sleeve. “You promised me,” he hissed. “You promised.”

Kor shrugged off the hand with an expression of repugnance. “Be silent. Your turn will come.” He faced Kirk. “Tell me, how does it feel to be a naked wolf?”

“Chilly. You won’t get anything out of Spock. There’s nothing to get.”

“Perhaps not. Time will tell—time you will not find pleasant, I assure you. I am determined to break you, Kirk. Whatever it takes, I _will_ break you.”

Kirk didn’t reply, but his eyes flashed scornful defiance.

Kor surveyed him thoughtfully. “Still bold and brave, I see. Your spirit will not be broken easily, I admit. But even a brave man has his limits . . . things he cannot endure.” He paced a few steps, and his glance fell on the Orion Captain. “Yes, I think I know. The most unbearable thing for a wolf would be to be at the mercy of a sheep . . . or worse yet, a worm.” He looked at Kirk speculatively. “I told this worm here that he could have you once I got what I wanted—it was part of his price for the use of his ship. But perhaps it is through him that my ends can be achieved.”

Kirk felt cold suddenly as he noticed the Orion licking his lips in anticipation, his eyes surveying the nude body before him. He understood abruptly what Kor meant, and for the first time since they had been captured, he felt a sharp jolt of fear.

Kor seemed strangely uncertain. “I have respect for you, Kirk. It goes against my grain to permit this to happen to one I consider _almost_ an equal. However, I know that any usual torture would be useless on you. One must make the best use of the tools available. Do you understand that, Kirk?”

“Are you asking for my blessing?” Kirk snapped.

Kor was silent for a moment, then nodded to Rab. “He is yours—as much as I regret the necessity.” He turned abruptly, leaving the Human with the three Orion guards and Rab.

Kirk stiffened apprehensively as the Orion Captain approached him.

* * *

Spock didn’t look up as Kor entered. He was steeling himself for whatever was to come. He tried to tell himself that even if it hadn’t been Jim he would feel the same, but he knew the truth. Watching Jim suffer would be the most gruelling thing he would ever have to endure.

“You should see what is happening to your Captain because of your stubbornness,” Kor said, flipping a switch. The large glass at one side of the room proved to be a viewscreen, giving onto the room where Kirk was held.

Spock didn’t want to look, didn’t want to watch what he knew would be unbearable. But Kor insisted and he was afraid it would be worse for Kirk if he refused. Kor made certain the speaker was on so Spock could hear everything.

The Orion crewmen were still holding the wary Kirk as Rab looked him over carefully, slowly. He stepped closer and began caressing the Human’s cheek.

“Beautiful skin,” the Orion said, as Kirk squirmed angrily in the guards’ relentless grip. “You are very pretty, James Kirk. Very pretty, indeed. I have seen you on the Federation newscasts—the indomitable Captain Kirk of the famous Starship _Enterprise_. I always thought you were far too handsome to be wasted in Starfleet. Do you know what I could get for you on the auction block?” He let his hand drift through the light brown hair, and Kirk set his jaw determinedly, eyes blazing contempt. Rab continued, “And it is not only your beauty, my lovely Captain. Although notable, it is not unusual in itself. It is the fire within you, the unquenchable spirit. It is challenging, exciting.”

Taking a handful of hair to keep Kirk’s head still, he began tracing the features lightly with his other hand. The Human’s eyes glowed almost green with fury and revulsion. Rab brushed his fingers over the lips.

“What a delicious mouth. I anticipate great pleasure in using it. Do you have a talent in that area, I wonder?”

Kirk managed to jerk his head away, disgust plain on his face. “Try it, and I’ll bite it off and spit it back at you!”

The Orion snickered. “I believe you would, at that. I will forego that enjoyment for the moment. You have other delights to offer.” He ran his hand down the Human’s chest to his genitals, fondling them.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Kirk said scornfully, and spat squarely in the trader’s face; he was held too tightly to take any other action.

The Orion’s meaty fist came up swiftly. After several brutal blows Kirk was pulled back into a standing position. His nose was broken, and blood was pouring from it. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the fuzziness of his vision.

“You are not so pretty now,” Rab said nastily. “What a pity. You should not anger me soon. This is just the beginning.”

It took a moment for Kirk to catch his breath, but the hazel eyes were still defiant and revolted. “Eat shit,” he pronounced, with as much bravado as he could muster.

“Make him more tractable,” the Orion captain ordered in annoyance.

The beating was very thorough this time, calculated for maximum pain and minimum damage. When they finished, the Human was limp, unable to do more than groan.

In the other room, Kor turned to Spock. “Is this enough for you? Will you speak now and spare him more anguish?”

Spock dropped his head, aching sickly inside, but knowing his duty. He didn’t answer.

“Very well. What happens now is on your head. I take no more pleasure in it than you. Watch.” He jerked Spock’s head up forcefully. “I said, watch, Vulcan!”

At the Orion’s instruction, the guards forced the now-unresisting Kirk down on the floor, holding him firmly. Rab knelt behind him, running his hands over the back and buttocks. Kirk seemed to come to his senses, and gather his strength for one last attempt. He somehow managed to knock more of the guards to the floor, and received a brutal kick in the side for the effort.

“So you still feel like fighting?” Rab snarled. “Perhaps you need something more to quiet you.” He walked to the side of the room and returned with a short whip. At the third lash, Kirk cried out in pain. The Orion’s sadistic eyes glowed as he laid the strokes on heavily.

It took all of Spock’s discipline to refrain from flinched himself at each stroke. Kor was pacing restlessly, obviously unpleased by what he was witnessing. He halted at the almost-inaudible sound from Spock.

“Why do you not speak. How can you let this continue?”

Spock turned to the Klingon, surprised at the disturbed look that flitted through Kor’s eyes.

“Put a stop to this, Kor,” Spock said stonily “You know it is pointless. I will not talk. And you do not really wish to hurt him in this manner. It is not an act of honor.”

Kor spun around, furious that some of his compassion for Kirk had been apparent to the Vulcan. “We have not hurt him enough yet! You will tell me what I want to know eventually. This is merely the first session. I do not plan to let him die easily.”

Kirk’s back and buttocks were covered with deep welts from the whip. Rab jerked his head back by the hair to make certain he had not become unconscious from the pain.

“Damn...you....” Kirk muttered weakly.

“Still spirited,” Rab commented, aroused. “But not quite so active. I have been waiting for this a long time, pretty Captain.” He undressed quickly and positioned himself between Kirk’s thighs. The Human gave a sharp cry as the Orion entered him forcefully; he attempted to struggle, but had no strength left. The Orion rammed into him relentlessly, mercilessly.

Uncaring of what Kor thought, Spock buried his face in his hands. _Jim . . ._ his heart cried in silent anguish.

“How can you permit this to continue?” Kor taunted again.

“How can _you_?” Spock retorted harshly, lifting his head.

“He is not my friend. He is my enemy, yet even I do not like to see one so proud debased. I was wrong about you, Vulcan. You can feel nothing for him. Even I, his enemy, feel more!”

Spock’s eyes raised to the screen. The Orion captain had finished with Kirk, and motioned to one of his crew to take his turn. Kirk was either unconscious or uncaring. Spock felt the fury gather in his muscles. For a split second he tried to control it, telling himself it would do no good, but the vision of Jim’s sprawled, helpless body sent a haze of green over his vision.

He jumped up explosively, breaking one guard’s neck in a single powerful blow, closing in on the other with lightning speed. The disrupter’s stun effect caught him midway, burning into him, melting him limply to the deck.

* * *

Spock woke slowly, nerves still tingling and stinging. The lighting was dim, but his vision adjusted rapidly. For a confinement cell, it was lavishly furnished: lots of garish pillows and draperies, the tinkling wet sound of a fountain, and several thick gauze curtains dividing the cubicle. Undoubtedly this was one of the pleasure rooms the Orions insisted on including in their vessels and it was being pressed into service as a brig for this occasion.

He tried the door, with no success.

A low moan drew his attention to the far corner. He pushed the draperies impatiently out of the way and saw Kirk, tumbled on a pile of cushions. He went to him quickly and knelt beside him.

“Jim . . . Jim . . .”

The Human was badly hurt. Nose obviously broken, eyes blackened, body contorted in pain. Spock went to the fountain, ripped one of the drapes into shreds, and returned with the wet cloths. He began to gently bathe Kirk, washing away the blood, trying to inventory the damage that had been done to him.

Kirk stirred again, and his eyes opened painfully. “Spock . . .?” he said hoarsely. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No, Jim. I am fine. Rest, please.”

Kirk shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He coughed a little, then looked back at Spock. “I . . . think I’m okay, though I hurt like hell. Don’t worry . . . don’t think it’s anything serious.”

“You do not know that for certain. Please, lie still.”

Kirk regarded him fondly. “I feel better just knowing you’re all right. I was afraid they would—” His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t give them the—?”

“No . . . I didn’t tell them,” Spock broke in soothingly.

“Good.” Kirk relaxed slightly. “Filthy bastards. They thought they could break us. Fools. As if such as them could.” He noticed the expression in the dark eyes. “What’s wrong, Spock?”

“They . . . hurt you, Jim. I am sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“So?” Kirk said suspiciously. “I’ve been hurt before, a lot worse than this. It’s nothing new. Why . . .?” He trailed off again as he became aware of Spock’s averted eyes.

The Vulcan’s head dropped, his voice choked. “I should have told them. It wasn’t important enough for you to go through—”

Kirk’s eyes widened in horror. “You _know_ ,” he whispered huskily. “They told you.”

Spock met the demanding gaze reluctantly. “They forced me to watch on a screen. It was Kor’s way of trying to make me talk. I . . . Jim, I am sorry. I should have surmised this possibility.”

Kirk closed his eyes very tightly and, for the first time, Spock saw a tear slip from under the eyelid and streak down the bruised cheek. “Oh my god,” Kirk breathed, “not that . . .”

Spock took the Human’s hand in his, wanting to help. “Jim.”

Kirk pulled his hand away and opened his eyes, face set in grim lines. “Don’t be ridiculous, Spock. You know you couldn’t have given them that information. They’re bound to kill us anyway. The Orions can’t afford to have it proved that they work so closely with the Klingon’s, and Kor certainly doesn’t want it known that they’re in this area at all. We’ll have to get out of here somehow. If we could make it back to the shuttlecraft and break away, I don’t think they’d dare follow us. They must know the _Enterprise_ could have picked up our signal. What are our chances of escape?”

“My information is sketchy at present,” Spock responded. He was a startled but pleased by Kirk’s quick return to assurance. Somehow he had expected this to affect him more deeply. But Kirk shrugged off the violation and returned to his command role as if it were nothing. “I do not believe the ship is heavily manned. Perhaps ten or fifteen Orions, and not more than five Klingons . . . four, now.”

“What happened?” Kirk asked sharply.

“I killed one,” Spock said simply.

“Well, that leaves one less to worry about. The Orions aren’t that much of a problem. They’ll run quicker than they’ll fight.” He tried to sit up, but curled over instead with a sharp yelp, clutching at his side.

“Jim! What is it?”

“I—” Kirk gasped, then caught his side, again, wincing. “I . . . don’t think I’ll be doing much fighting myself. I . . . got kicked in the ribs. I think maybe something is . . . kind of messed up.”

“Just lie still. Do not attempt to move.”

“Great. Looks like it will be up to you. Get us out of here, Spock. I . . . need Bones. This . . . hurts . . . a lot.” He was very pale, but he smiled weakly. “Do you think he has a pill for it?”

“Undoubtedly. Now rest here. I will see what I can do.”

An indeterminable time later, Spock returned. This time he had a disrupter in his hand.

“Looks like you succeeded, Spock.”

The Vulcan seemed a bit surprised by that fact himself. “Obviously, they assumed I was more disabled by the stun than I was. The lock was primitive and there was only one guard outside the door. I had little difficulty subduing him. I took his weapon and made my way to the engineering section, where I shut off the tractor beam and destroyed some of the circuits to the main drive. It is all I had time to do. We must move quickly before my efforts are discovered. One Klingon and several Orions are out of operation for a time, but there are still enough remaining to stop us should they discover our absence.”

While he was talking, Spock had located a wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulled out a silken, brightly colored robe. Kirk seemed reluctant to put it on, but it was better than going nude. Spock helped him to slip it on, but the human pushed the helping hands away after that.

“No, you can’t carry me . . . not if you want to keep that disrupter handy if we need it. I’m better now. I can walk.”

Spock was surprised by Kirk’s reluctance to be touched, but he didn’t have time to consider that now. “At least you must lean on me,” he insisted.

Kirk still seemed averse to the idea, but he gave in to the logic of it and accepted the Vulcan’s arm around his waist. They were strangely unobstructed in their escape. It made Spock wary; it was too easy. But somehow, he felt Kor really wanted it this way. None of this had really been his style; he preferred a more open type of warfare. The image of a Klingon feeling “guilt” about his actions was totally ridiculous, of course, and yet . . . if Kor had not wished them to escape, Spock was convinced they wouldn’t have been able to do.

They reached the transporter room and Spock noted that the coordinates were still set on the shuttlecraft. The transportation back to the shuttle was as unsettling as it had been before, and Spock looked anxiously at Kirk to make certain he was all right. He was still clutching his side.

“Jim, are you in difficulty?”

“No. Just get us the hell out of here.”

Spock turned back to the controls, set the course, and the shuttle pulled rapidly away from the Orion ship. For a long time neither spoke, until it was apparent there was no sign of pursuit.

Kirk slumped down in the chair, as if the last of his hard-held strength was draining from him. “How long . . . before we reach the _Enterprise_?”

“If the ship proceeded to Space Station K-4, as planned, it will take over eleven hours.”

Kirk shut his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth against the pain. Spock leaned over worriedly. “Jim , there is a medical kit in—”

“No,” Kirk said bluntly. “I’m all right.”

Spock hesitated, unsure of what to say or do. He wanted very much to give Kirk some pain medication, but he had no idea of the extent of the Human’s internal injuries. And, perhaps more importantly, the extent of his emotional damage. The pain might possibly be the shield he was using against thinking about it.

Spock felt helpless and uncharacteristically uncertain.

“Jim . . . what happened to you . . . you must not—”

Kirk cut him off hastily, firmly. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Of course,” Spock replied gently. “Rest. We will be back on the _Enterprise_ soon.”

Several silent, troubled hours later, Spock picked up a reading on the sensors. At first he thought it might be the Orion ship, but when he discovered what it was, he touched Kirk’s arm in relief.

“Jim, the _Enterprise_. They must have received our distress signal.”

Kirk opened his eyes, but didn’t sit up. “Good. Contact them . . .” he trailed off, holding his side and gasping.

“ _Enterprise_ ,” Spock hailed quickly, “ _Columbus_ to _Enterprise_. Open shuttlebay doors. Have a medical team standing by. Please notify Dr. McCoy that Captain Kirk has been injured.”

* * *

McCoy studied the scanners over the bed. He had been horrified when he first saw the Captain’s appearance, but his condition wasn’t quite as critical as he had feared. Spock’s sketchy explanation of what had happened made him curse in exasperation. Jim’s luck had been rotten lately; too many problems with the ship, too much tension, and now this. It seemed like McCoy would just get him patched up from one thing when something else would happen. The stress was bound to tell on Kirk sooner or later. He just couldn’t continue pushing himself.

“You’ll live,” he told the Captain gruffly. “You’ve got several broken ribs and a damaged spleen, but nothing we can’t handle.”

“That’s good to know,” Kirk whispered drowsily.

McCoy smiled gently. “We’re going to put you under now. M’Benga’s going to do the operation; it’s his specialty. Besides, I’m tired of doing all the work around here,” he teased lightly. “He’ll even fix up that broken nose, and you’ll be as pretty as ever.”

Kirk flinched at the words and McCoy noted the reaction, surprised. “What’s wrong, Jim? Did I say—?”

“Doctor, “Spock broke in suddenly from the doorway. McCoy had tried to run him off a couple of times, but the Vulcan had insisted on staying nearby. “Doctor McCoy, may I speak with you a moment?” he repeated earnestly.

McCoy looked back at Kirk, but he had turned his face away. The doctor patted his arm reassuringly. I’ll see you when you’re out of surgery, okay, Jim?”

Kirk didn’t reply. McCoy followed the Vulcan into his office. “What is it, Spock?” he asked impatiently. “Jim’s going to be all right, if that’s what you want to know. I already told you that.”

“Have you examined him thoroughly?”

McCoy noticed the hesitation in Spock’s voice. “I haven’t had time to study the complete workup yet. They’re running it through now. Why?”

“I . . . I believe—” Spock turned away. “I think you should know—” He fell silent as Nurse Chapel entered and handed the report to McCoy. Her eyes touched on Spock sympathetically, then she hurried away without speaking. McCoy studied the report for a moment, skimming through it quickly.

“My god.” He looked up at Spock. “I guess my big mouth didn’t help much, did it? That was probably the last thing he wanted to hear.”

“Is he badly hurt?” Spock asked tersely.

McCoy dropped down into a chair. “From the sexual assault? That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

Spock nodded numbly.

“No. The damage from that relatively minimal. Some tearing, bruises, some swelling. The other injuries were far more severe. The spleen was very close to being ruptured, and it’s that and the ribs that are hurting him . . . physically.”

Spock turned quickly. “And otherwise? How will he take this?”

McCoy sighed. “I wish I knew. Ordinarily I’d say . . . well, I don’t know what to say! He’s a very complicated person; it’s hard to judge what his reactions will be. It would be a difficult thing for anyone, male or female, to accept but for a man like Jim it might be worse. He’s pretty resilient, but I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Spock moved purposefully toward the door. “Please inform me when he is out of surgery.”

“Where are you going?” McCoy asked suspiciously, sensing a sudden restlessness in the Vulcan. “What are you going to do?”

“I am going to the Bridge. I am in command now and we are going in pursuit of the Orion vessel.”

“Revenge, Spock?” McCoy asked softly, suddenly aware that he was seeing something in the Vulcan that he seldom witnessed before—fury.

The words echoed strangely, and Spock recalled similar words he himself had said to Kirk, on Capella IV a few years ago. Almost instinctively, he repeated Kirk’s reply.

“Why not?”

McCoy stared at the closed door for a long time, wondering just who had been hurt more by this, Jim or Spock.

* * *

Spock walked onto the bridge and took the command chair. “Estimated time of arrival at the Orion vessel’s position?”

“Two point two hours, sir,” Chekov answered.

“Increase speed to warp factor six.”

“Aye, sir.” Chekov glanced over to Sulu, whose eyes widened. They both looked at Uhura. They all wanted to ask about the Captain’s condition, but there was something in the dark eyes that caused them to hesitate. Uhura shook her head, warning them off for now.

None of the crew knew any of the particulars of what had happened, just that the shuttlecraft had been captured by an Orion ship, under instructions from the Klingons, and that the Captain had been hurt. All of them were upset and angered by this, but Spock’s entrance added still another element. Although his voice and demeanor were as calm and level as always, there was a tension in the figure, a determination that communicated itself to the entire bridge crew.

Spock was out for blood this time, and they all knew it.

* * *

McCoy tossed a satisfied glance at the scanner, leaned against the adjacent bed, and crossed his arms. “You’re awake, I see.”

Kirk smiled. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

“That’s a dumb question. I feel like hell. What did you expect?”

McCoy shrugged. “You’re doing just fine, thank you, you’re welcome. But next time, take my advice and go on shore leave with me, will ya?”

Kirk chuckled. “If I remember correctly, I’d still feel like hell.”

“Maybe so, but it wouldn’t take you so long to get over it. Do you remember what all I said was wrong with you before we put you under? You were a little groggy.”

“Ah . . . broken ribs . . . something wrong with the spleen . . . assorted bruises, cuts, and abrasions. The usual, right?”

“Right—your usual condition when you refuse to listen to your doctor. You were a mess. If a cat had drug you in, I’d’ve chucked you out. But since it was Spock . . . That boy brings the damndest things home with him.”

Kirk grinned weakly. “So I’ll be okay, huh?”

McCoy sobered suddenly. He studied Kirk thoughtfully for a moment. “Physically, yes. Emotionally . . . well, that might take a little more effort.”

Kirk inspected the blanket with feigned casualness. “Oh. I figured you’d find out sooner or later. Did Spock tell you?”

“He didn’t have to; I happen to have a medical degree—several, in fact. It’s what I get paid for.”

After a moment, Kirk turned his head to meet McCoy’s gaze. “Well,” he said lightly, “I guess I’ll never be a virgin again.”

The tone should have surprised McCoy, but it didn’t. He caught the pain hidden under the forced lightness. He stood and walked a few paces away. “I’ve checked for various venereal diseases. The Orions aren’t known for being picky where sex is concerned and there are a few that cross species lines. You’re lucky; he was clean.”

“Gee whiz,” Kirk said sharply, “I never thought to ask him about that. Careless of me.”

McCoy spun around. “Stop it, Jim.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to brush this off. It might help if you’d talk about it.”

“Why? Are you curious?”

McCoy stared at him. “Jim, if it helps to take your anger out on me, go right ahead. I’m just trying to help.”

Kirk sighed. “Okay, what do you want to hear? That it was bad? It was. That it hurt? It did. That I hate the bastard who did it? I do. Did I ask for it? Well, now that I think about it, I probably did by being in the wrong place at the right time. I mean, it was an obvious torture technique. Anything else you want to know, Doctor Freud?”

He waited for McCoy to reply, but he didn’t. “Listen, Bones,” he finally continued, “I’ve been hurt worse. It was bad, but it wasn’t unbearable. I can live with it. After all, I’m not the first man who’s been . . . that’s had that happen to him, and I won’t be the last. I’d rather just forget it, okay?”

McCoy looked doubtful. “Do you think it’ll be that easy?”

“I think it’s you and Spock who have the hang-ups!” Kirk said harshly. “You both seem disappointed that I’m not falling to pieces or something!”

“Jim, you know very well it’s not—”

“Then just drop it, all right? They didn’t break me! This time they didn’t—” He broke off abruptly, but McCoy had caught it.

“‘This time’? Has it happened before?”

“I said, drop it!” Kirk realized he was becoming a little too emphatic. “Hey, Bones, you know I’m still a little groggy from the aesthetic. I didn’t mean to get so dramatic about this, but I’d really rather ignore the whole thing. It’s no big deal, honestly. I understand all the deep psychological implications, that it might affect my masculinity, and all that. But that aspect of it doesn’t bother me, I swear. In fact, as soon as you let me out of here, I fully intend to prove my virility. Does that satisfy you?”

McCoy smiled slightly. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

Kirk grinned back. “Several.”

“All right, you’ve got me convinced. Obviously your ego hasn’t been impaired.” He moved toward the intercom.

“What are you doing?” Kirk asked quickly.

“Letting Spock know you’re awake. He wanted to—”

“No!” Kirk said sharply. McCoy looked back at him, startled. Spock was always the first person the Captain demanded to see. Kirk dropped his eyes. “Ah, I’m kind of tired, Bones. I think I’ll get some sleep first. Tell Spock . . . I’ll see him . . . later.”

McCoy straightened. “Sure, Jim. If that’s what you want.”

* * *

“Sir, we’ve run a wide scan several times and it’s not in this area. We can’t—”

“Then search for residue,” Spock ordered sharply, silently condemning the random factors which had allowed the Orions to repair the engine damage so quickly. “The motive power is primitive matter/antimatter. There will be some traces.”

“Sir,” Chekov said excitedly, “I have picked up a trail . . . though it is faint.”

“Pursue it, Ensign. I want that ship located.” He glanced at the chronometer. The Captain should have been conscious long before now. Why hadn’t McCoy informed him? He stood impatiently and headed for the turbolift. “Let me know immediately if you find anything concrete. I shall be in Sickbay. Mr. Sulu, you have the con.”

The Sickbay doors swooshed open and Spock stalked in, looking both perturbed and concerned. When he saw McCoy leaning back in his chair behind the desk with a drink in his hand, he was even less pleased.

“Doctor, was there any difficulty with the Captain’s surgery?” he asked sharply.

“No, he’s fine. He’s been conscious for some time.” McCoy continued studying the liquor in his glass thoughtfully.

“I instructed you to inform me when he awoke,” Spock said with a touch of annoyance. He walked toward the patient area.

“Wait a second, Spock.”

The Vulcan turned impatiently. “I will speak to you after I have seen the Captain.”

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

The words brought Spock’s head up sharply, as if struck. He glanced back at the doorway, then at McCoy. After a second he moved to stand in front of the desk, his gaze almost challenging. “Why?”

McCoy regretted his blunt announcement. He hedged. “He says he’s tired.”

“Tired?” Spock repeated with lifted eyebrow. Both of them knew that had never stopped Kirk from wanting to see the Vulcan before.

“Well, he does need the rest. And I think he’s still a little traumatized, not that he will admit it. It might be better if we did leave him alone for a while.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit down, Spock. We need to talk. Want a drink?”

Spock shook his head and sat down reluctantly, steepling his hands in front of him. “How long will he be confined to Sickbay?”

“A couple of days. He’s very strong physically; nothing keeps him down for long.” He looked over at Spock, noticing the strain in the figure.

“Spock, have you tried to talk to Jim about what happened to him?”

“I tried, but . . .” Spock’s gaze fell to his hands.

“But he didn’t want to talk about it? I know. He didn’t really want to talk to me, either. Understandable, I guess.”

“How is he reacting?” Spock asked hesitantly.

McCoy took a deep breath. “Superficially, he’s trying to brush it off, but I think it’s bothering him more than he’ll admit even to himself. Rape is a difficult thing to deal with. The sexual aspect of it is less important than the sense of violation and humiliation, the loss of autonomy. And, yes, shame. There’s always an element of that in rape, no matter what the circumstances.”

Spock stood up abruptly, walked a few steps, then halted with his back to McCoy. “I should have told Kor what he wanted to know. It wasn’t worth what Jim went through . . . for that to be done to him because I was too proud to speak. It is not surprising he does not wish to see me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Spock. Pride had nothing to do with it. You were doing what you had to do, and it would have hurt Jim a hell lot more if you _had_ talked because of him. If there’s any pride involved, it’s Jim’s, not yours. He would never have forgiven you, or himself, if—”

Spock whipped around, face dark. “I saw what happened to him! Nothing could have hurt him more than what that Orion did!”

“You saw—?” McCoy paused, considering that. “Of course, I should have realized. Jim knows you were forced to watch, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he knows.”

McCoy was silent for a moment. “Spock, I think that may be why Jim is so reluctant to see you. I think he could handle just about anything except the fact that you witnessed it.”

“But why?” Spock asked in confusion.

“I’m not sure I really understand it all that well myself, but l believe some of Jim’s self-image is tied up in your view of him. You’ve become very important to him. For you to see him used, helpless . . . He may have transferred his own self-loathing to you. Thinks he must have lost your respect, since he doesn’t really respect himself anymore.”

“That is not logical,” Spock protested.

“If I’m right, he isn’t doing it consciously. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But that might be why he doesn’t want to face you right now. I think he’s afraid to.” McCoy threw up his hands. “Or I could be reading it all wrong.”

The Vulcan was silent for several minutes. Finally he said, “I must see him.”

“It might be a mistake. Why don’t you give him some time?”

Spock didn’t answer. He turned to the door of Jim’s room, and this time McCoy didn’t stop him.

Kirk was awake, his eyes fastened on the ceiling. He glanced over as he heard Spock enter, then turned his head away. “I told Bones I wanted to get some sleep.”

“You were not sleeping,” Spock pointed out gently. “I . . . wished to see how you are.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just fine.” He refused to meet Spock’s eyes. “Shouldn’t you be on the Bridge?”

“I will return there presently. We are in pursuit of the Orion vessel.”

“Great. Let me know when we get the bastards.” Kirk turned purposefully toward the wall. “I really don’t feel much like talking, okay?”

“Jim . . .” Spock’s tone pleaded for another response. Some acknowledgement that their relationship had not altered. He hesitated, wanting to force the issue, to discover if McCoy was correct, but in some way afraid to.

Finally he took a step closer. “Very well, I will leave you to rest.” He noting the bruised cheeks, swollen nose and the cut under the lower lip where Jim had bitten through during the ordeal, wishing there was something he could do to ease the hurt that went far deeper than those wounds. He wanted to comfort him, make it easier somehow. But there seemed to be an invisible shield around the Human that forbade any contact, and a formality in his tone that warned Spock off.

He touched Kirk’s arm uncertainly, and sensed the imperceptible withdrawal. Spock stepped back immediately, feeling as if he had trespassed.

“I . . . will return later, Jim,” he said softly.

Kirk closed his eyes, feigning an attempt at sleep.

* * *

For three days the _Enterprise_ chased the trail of the Orion ship, finding it, losing it, finding it again. Spock persisted doggedly, demanding the impossible and more from the crew. The Bridge crew sensed, although none of them voiced it aloud, that this was a personal vendetta for their First Officer. It was inexplicable, even unthinkable, but they could find no other explanation.

True, it was important to obtain proof of the Orion collaboration with the Klingons, but this chase was far more personal than that. And coming from a Vulcan who eschewed the personal, it was abnormal. Spock had sat in the command chair, still as a stone statue, for nearly fourteen hours each day. Despite all his outward containment and perfect Vulcan facade, the Bridge was electric with his silent rage and desperation. It was unnerving, and totally unprecedented coming from Spock. They all felt a little on edge.

Kirk had consistently refused to see Spock, although he had a variety of reasons for the postponement none of which either Spock or McCoy believed for moment. What was even more unusual, he wasn’t pressuring the doctor to release him from Sickbay. According to McCoy, he seemed content to remain there, reading . . . or merely staring at the ceiling.

Whenever McCoy pressed him into talking, he put on a breezy front of indifference. He concealed his aching with light, frivolous conversation and, no matter how he tried, the doctor was unable to dig under to the heart of the problem. Kirk refused to face it, refused to even let McCoy discuss it.

The doctor found his sympathy going out to Spock as much as to Jim. The Vulcan seemed lost, almost crushed, by Kirk’s retreat from him. He had come to depend on the Captain’s friendship and companionship more than he would ever admit, and its sudden, pointed withdrawal affected him glaringly. He became colder to McCoy, as formal and abrupt as he had been at their first meeting.

And, at the same time, Jim became warmer, drawing McCoy in closer, as if to compensate for his almost-callous attitude toward Spock. The doctor began to resent being used as a shield by Jim and a buffer by Spock, but he had no idea what to do about it, or how to change it.

Late on the third day, Spock walked into sickbay and confronted McCoy. “When will the Captain be able to return to duty?”

“I’d like to keep him here for a couple more days, but physically I could release him tomorrow, if he takes it easy. It will be a couple of weeks before he’s fully recovered. I definitely don’t want him back on that Bridge for at least a week in his emotional state.” He looked Spock over carefully. “Why? Are you getting tired of running things?”

“It is not a question of that. I’m required to log his condition for Starfleet Command.”

“Yeah, right,” McCoy replied sceptically. “Do you want to see him?”

“Has he asked to see me?”

“No, but—”

“Then I must return to the Bridge. There is—”

McCoy interrupted him hotly, out of patience with both men. “Damn it, I asked you to give him some time, not to abandon him altogether!”

Spock stared at him coldly. “I am not ‘abandoning’ him, as you put it. I am merely abiding by the Captain’s wishes. Obviously he does not—”

The intercom signal cut him off. McCoy answered it impatiently. “Yes?”

“Is Commander Spock in sickbay, Doctor?” Sulu asked.

“Spock here.”

“Sir, we have located the Orion vessel. It’s just drifting. I think the engines are dead. The power reading is very minimal.”

McCoy didn’t like the way Spock stiffened, or the hard gleam that appeared in his eyes. “They must have burned out their hastily-repaired circuits in the attempt to evade us,” Spock remarked, almost to himself. “Mr. Sulu, have a security team meet me in the transporter room immediately. We are going to board that ship.”

McCoy caught Spock’s arm as he started to leave. “Don’t you think you should talk to Jim about this first? Now that you have them, and they’re apparently helpless, wouldn’t it be better to take their ship in tow back to the Starbase and let the authorities there deal with them? It’s not necessary for you to confront Kor now . . . nor very wise.”

“Doctor,” Spock said icily, “you are overstepping your field. In this area, I decide what is necessary.”

“And on what are you basing your decision, Spock? A desire for personal retribution? I’ve never seen you look for vengeance. I don’t like it.”

“My motivations are not your concern.”

“They damn well are! If you go on like this, you’re going to wind up doing something you’ll regret. I never dreamed I’d be saying this, but try remembering that you’re Vulcan, Spock!”

“I do not need you to remind me of what I am. Stay out of this, Doctor. I am warning you to mind your own affairs, or you will regret it.”

He left abruptly, and the doctor slammed his fist down on his desk in frustration. In his present frame of mind, the Vulcan could easily do something that would conflict with all that he had ever believed in and stood for. If that happened, McCoy was worried about what it would do to Spock—or Jim—in the long run.

“Bones . . .” A soft voice spoke from the doorway. McCoy looked up, startled to see Jim standing there, his, expression troubled. “That didn’t sound like Spock. What’s happened to him?”

McCoy realized the Captain must have heard the entire exchange. “Jim . . . perhaps you should—”

“It’s my fault, isn’t it’?” Kirk cut him off. “The way I’ve treated him. I’ve hurt him.” His shoulders slumped despondently. “Of all people, how could I have behaved so harshly to him?”

“He understands, Jim,” McCoy said gently.

“Does he? It’s more than I do.” He squared his shoulders with determination and headed for the door to the corridor.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” McCoy demanded.

“After Spock.”

“I haven’t released you from Sickbay, and I have no intention of letting you go gallivanting off to an enemy ship—”

Kirk paused at the door. “Bones, I have to stop him before he does something that will destroy him inside. I can’t let that happen—not because of me. Please don’t try to stop me. I’m going.”

McCoy knew it was pointless to argue with Kirk when he had made up his mind. “Okay, Jim, but for god’s sake, be careful. You’re still weak and—”

McCoy stood in front of the now-closed door, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake in letting him go. Hoping that Jim could get to Spock in time and that together they could work this out.

* * *

The Orions put up little struggle against the boarding party. Their vessel’s engines were strained beyond repair, and being captured seemed preferable to drifting in space until their life support systems also failed. It didn’t take long to discover that the Klingons had left the ship to return to their own shortly after the escape. Kor obviously knew that the _Enterprise_ would be hunting down the Orion vessel, and decided to exercise the better part of valor by leaving the Orions to their fate.

Spock left the prisoners to the security men, and sought out the person he had come to find. He discovered Rab cowering in his cabin. The deadly expression in the Vulcan’s eyes was enough to send Rab scurrying back against the wall in fear.

“It was not my doing.” he said hastily. “You cannot blame me! The Klingons forced me to do it. It was Kor . . . you know it was Kor’s orders!”

Spock advanced on him mercilessly. He put the phaser back on his belt not wanting to give this slime such a clean death. Rab read the brutal intention in Spock’s face, and cringed back farther.

“You can’t kill me,” he babbled in terror, “I’m a Federation prisoner! You’ll be court-martialled.”

A single blow from the Vulcan’s fist sent the Orion flying across the cabin to smash into the opposite wall. Spock picked him up by the throat and shook him like a rat. Then he held him very still, staring at the greasy face, imprinting the sight of the panic-filled eyes into his mind. He felt a cold, hard satisfaction at seeing it. His hands trembled on the Onion’s neck in the urge to kill, to make him pay for what he had done to Jim, and for burning his closeness with Jim to ashes. The only person in the galaxy he had ever permitted himself to care for that deeply, the only person who had ever returned that caring so totally—and this piece of filth had ruined it. It might never be the same between them again because of this loathsome creature.

His teeth clenched in blind rage, and his grip tightened on Rab’s throat, slowly cutting off the air. He watched abstractedly as the color faded and the eyes began to bulge.

Then, suddenly killing him didn’t seem necessary any more. It was enough to know that he could. And with that came the realization that the Orion’s death would give him no real peace. His fury faded abruptly, sanity returning.

He tossed the Orion carelessly to one side and wiped his hands on his uniform. He addressed the relieved, gasping Rab in disgust. “You are not worth killing.”

“Thank you, Spock.”

The Vulcan spun around. Kirk was leaning against the doorsill, looking pale.

“Jim—!” He glanced back down at the Orion captain. “Why do you thank me?” he asked slowly. “I should have broken his neck.”

Kirk met the Vulcan’s eyes steadily. “I didn’t want this to—change you, too,” he answered simply.

Spock took a step toward him. “Jim . . .”

The security men entered, interrupting what Spock had planned to say. He instructed them to take Rab and the rest of the Orions back to the _Enterprise_ and put them in the brig and to inform Mr. Scott to prepare to take the Orion vessel in tow. Kirk stood back and watched silently as they removed Rab, none too gently, from the room. He completely ignored the Orion as he passed him, as if he was of no more concern.

When they were gone, Spock moved to stand by Kirk. “You should not have come here. You are still unwell.”

“I’m okay. Bones was going to release me tomorrow anyway.” His color faded again, and he swayed dizzily. Spock caught his arm to steady him. For a long moment they stared at each other silently.

Then Kirk straightened and averted his eyes. “Let’s get back to the _Enterprise_.”

* * *

Spock stood uncertainly in front of the door to Kirk’s quarters. It was very late and he knew the Captain was probably asleep, but he felt a deep need to see Jim. They had not had an opportunity to talk after returning to the _Enterprise_ ; McCoy had given Kirk a quick once-over and pronounced that he was fine, although still weak. He released him from Sickbay officially, but ordered him to go directly to his quarters and stay there. Strangely, the Captain didn’t protest against the restriction. In fact, he seemed to almost jump at the chance of another refuge. It worried Spock, believing Kirk was still attempting to shut himself off, but McCoy didn’t appear as concerned.

“I told you it was going to take time,” he had told Spock. “At least he’s made a beginning. He wasn’t thinking of himself when he followed you today. It had to be damned hard for him to go back to that ship, but he was able to put that part of it aside because he thought you needed him. He was afraid you would kill that Orion . . . and that you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you did. He cares for you that much.” His gaze had held Spock’s steadily. “He still loves you, Spock.”

The word had startled the Vulcan. He had never heard McCoy use it pertaining to him and Kirk before, and his own Vulcan training had never permitted him to even dare think of his feeling for Jim in that strong a of term. But for once he’d had no logical response to make. And he hadn’t tried to deny it, even to himself.

Now he stood in front of the Captain’s cabin, trying to get up enough courage to push the door signal. Perhaps Kirk was not yet ready to see him. Spock finally made the decision to take McCoy’s advice and give him more time. But as he turned away resignedly, his acute hearing caught the sound of a muffled cry from inside the cabin. Hastily he punched the lock code and entered. He halted abruptly when he saw that Kirk was on his knees in the middle of the room.

Judging by the slightly disordered condition of the room, Jim had been sleepwalking, although Spock did not believe it was an ordinary problem. Kirk was still asleep and obviously deep in the grip of a nightmare. He was shaking violently and his body was drenched with sweat.

Spock knelt beside him quickly, intending to wake him, but Kirk struck out wildly. “No! Don’t touch me . . . leave me alone . . . please. No! Please don’t . . . Oh, god, don’t—”

“Jim!” Spock shook him roughly, frightened by the sobs that caught in Kirk’s throat and the tears that ran unchecked down his face. “Jim, wake up. You are dreaming, only dreaming.”

Kirk’s eyes opened, large and liquid with tears. He took a sharp, shaky breath and shivered. “Spock,” he whispered, “God, Spock . . .” The timid, wounded note in his voice made the Vulcan’s heart ache.

He drew the Human into his arms, instinctively cradling him, protecting him. Kirk leaned gratefully against his chest, still slightly disoriented and frightened by the dream. Abandoning all of his Vulcan reserve Spock held him tightly.

Feeling the waves of comfort and caring washing over him from Spock, Kirk stopped fighting the urge to give in to it. All the bottled-up pain and guilt and humiliation flowed out, and he was simply too weak and tired and confused to try to hold it back any longer. He began to cry again, softly at first, until the storm of pent-up emotions swept through him with renewed force. He clutched Spock as an anchor, a rock to cling to.

Spock continued to hold him, letting his calmness enfold Jim, reassure him.

He murmured to him soothingly, “It is all right, Jim. It was only a dream. You are safe. I am here with you. It was only a dream . . .”

After a time the tempest subsided, and Kirk sat up, gathering back some of his composure. “But it wasn’t a dream, Spock,” he said slowly. “It happened. Three days ago . . . and twenty-two years ago.”

Spock froze. He reached out tentatively to touch Jim’s arm. “You do not have to tell me—”

“I think I do. l think you deserve to know what has made this so . . . difficult for me. What happened . . . well, it uncovered a lot of old scars. Things I thought I had dealt with and buried a very long time ago.”

He dropped his head and rubbed his eyes tiredly. After taking a deep breath, he continued slowly, pausing to swallow when the words became too painful. The story he told was of a particularly painful time in his youth and what happened during that time made Spock wish to hold him again, but he kept his distance and listened, letting Jim get it all out.

Spock found he could read between the lines as Kirk spoke. He could picture a young boy of fourteen, perhaps too sensitive, losing a father he had never known well but had idolized just the same. He could see the boy becoming slightly wild and rebellious, losing any direction in his life. Tired of competing with a studious elder brother who always seemed too perfect to match, and who was plainly favored by the mother. Bored, confused, uncertain of where he was going, or even who he was, the boy stole an air car . . . and subsequently wrecked it. It was a first offense and there was no official charge made, but his mother was requested to place him in a camp for the summer, to give him the hand of authority the court felt he lacked.

The intention was good, but the camp was comprised of misfits and juvenile delinquents, most from larger cities and older than Kirk. Ordinarily he would have managed quite well, for he had always had the knack of gathering a loyal following—although he made really few very close friends. But in this case he felt out of his element, and was both too stubborn and too bitter to make use of his inborn charm. He didn’t _want_ to fit in. It was a serious mistake, for his aloofness created resentment. Especially, in one boy named Simon, who was older than Kirk and far more vicious. To him, this farm-bred pretty boy was a perfect target.

Spock realized that Kirk, an extremely handsome man now, would probably have had an almost delicate beauty at fourteen. He would have been small for his age, and the Vulcan had no trouble envisioning the big hazel eyes and the sun-bleached hair. Although Kirk was very strong and athletic now, and no doubt had always been that way, much of it was an inner strength and a dash of arrogance that made him the man he was.

The remainder of the story was inevitable. Several of the boys caught the young Kirk, and held him down to be used.

Kirk swallowed painfully and looked up at Spock. “Oh, it didn’t happen. One of the counselors discovered what was going on and stopped it. I’m not even sure the other boys would have really gone along with it anyway. It was mainly a dominance game to them; a power play—with me losing. Putting me in my place with a vengeance. But Simon was serious, I know that.” Kirk stared at the wall stonily. “Maybe he did get what he really wanted, though. I did break. I was crying . . . begging them to stop. Pleading with them not to let him do it.”

“You were only a child, Jim,” Spock said softly.

Kirk lifted his head. “Yeah, just a boy. A dumb, innocent kid who was both too proud and too ‘pretty’ for his own good. It took me a long time to adjust to what happened—what I had been sure was going to happen. It didn’t matter that the act was never completed, the purpose of it was served: the degradation, the humiliation, the fear. It was the total feeling of helplessness that hurt the most. It crushed my spirit. I didn’t have a spark of fight left in me. Afterwards, something in me rebelled against that. I hated myself for letting it happen to me . . . for letting them break me. I swore that I would somehow get to a position with enough power that I would never be that helpless again. I thought Starfleet was the answer. Oh, I would have entered Starfleet anyway, I’m sure. The stars were always something I knew I would reach. I might even have become a Captain. But this—what happened—maybe it gave me that extra incentive. The push that made it even more important.” He smiled humorlessly. “Of course, I was wrong. I’ve felt helpless more times as Captain of the _Enterprise_ than I probably ever would have if I’d stayed on Earth. It didn’t take me long to find that out. Or that I could handle it most of the time. At least, until this. It brought it all back to me. When Rab raped me—” He closed his eyes and took a breath. Spock lay a steadying hand on his arm. It seemed to renew Kirk’s courage.

“I . . . don’t think I knew quite how I was supposed to react. After all, I wasn’t a kid any more. It’s not that unusual an occurrence in that type of situation. I tried to put it in perspective, to convince myself it was no worse than any other punishment I’ve taken. I told myself that it wasn’t going to break me this time, and it didn’t. At least, not in the usual way. I was able to stand it until I found out you had witnessed everything. For some reason, that was too much. I . . . guess I didn’t have the courage to face you. I was afraid you might . . . feel differently toward me . . .” He trailed off lamely.

Spock was puzzled. “But why? The situation was not of your making. How could it alter my view of you as a person?”

Kirk shrugged. “I know how Vulcans are private about sex. How much honor means to them. I’m sorry, Spock. I know you must have thought I blamed you. I put a lot of guilt on you that you didn’t deserve. I didn’t intend that.”

Spock waited until Kirk’s eyes met his tentatively. “I do not understand how you could have believed _anything_ could alter my feeling for you or that I do not believe you are the most honorable man I have ever known. I care for you, not as Captain of this ship, but as Jim Kirk, my friend. My respect for you is not based on the position you hold or the appearance you put forth, but only for the man you are inside. Nothing has changed that. Nothing can.”

Kirk shut his eyes for a second. “I guess, deep down, I knew that. You and Bones are the most dependable, steady anchors I have in my life. I think . . . it’s me who’s changed. Maybe I’m afraid to find out how much.”

Spock didn’t reply for some time. “Jim, you said that you did not want this to change me, but to some extent it has. It has made me realize how much I . . . need your friendship.” His eyes smiled into Kirk’s. “I do not believe that is necessarily a bad thing; perhaps it is time I was able to admit it.” He paused, studying the Human’s startled expression. Kirk didn’t seem to have expected this much openness from him, even now.

Spock continued, “Jim, if you have changed as you believe, perhaps it is only in your ability to admit that you _can_ be hurt. Is that so terrible? In many ways you have learned to suppress your emotions as much as I.”

He shook his head at Kirk’s surprise, “Not in the way you think. You are an emotional man, we both know that. You have no hesitation in releasing your happiness, joy, love, anger—or even your fear. You can permit all those expressions of emotion because they do not touch you as deeply as others. But your own personal pain and grief you hide, lock up inside you. I have watched you for many years, Jim, and I know this is true. You feel that other emotions are safe to release, but when something affects you strongly enough, you will not let yourself give in to it. When Edith died, or Miramanee, or Rayna, you refused to allow your grief any outlet. I have seen you show more emotion over the death of an enemy than you did when your brother was killed. You expressed more compassion for Charlie Evans than you did for McCoy when you discovered his terminal disease—in fact, you even refused to let the Doctor remain working on the _Enterprise_ as he wished to do.”

Kirk looked confused. “But he was ill at the time. I thought—”

“No, Jim,” Spock cut him off gently. “If it had been someone else, you would have been sympathetic to his wishes, bent a few rules perhaps. But the prospect of McCoy’s death hurt you far too deeply; you began trying to seal off your feelings immediately, preparing yourself for his loss. Remember, I am something of an expert on repression—I have practiced it all of my life.

“Perhaps the pattern you follow began with your father’s death, but it is there nonetheless. You will not let yourself face your deepest pain.”

“And you’re saying that being able to admit that what happened nearly destroyed me is a healthy change?!” Kirk asked, startled.

“It did not destroy you,” Spock pointed out. “If anything has changed in you, it is that you are stronger now. More able to face your pain and accept it for what it is, not as something that makes you weaker. You do not have to conceal it from your friends . . . or from yourself.”

Kirk regarded him, shamefaced. “Maybe . . . I needed to learn how to cry,” he said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps. There seems to be a purpose for weeping in Humans, as an outlet . . . a release for pain and grief. Yet I have never seen you cry before tonight. Not even when Edith died. I think you have associated tears with surrender, or . . . breaking, as you put it. You must have known that was not really true, but you still resisted it. It is possible that you have needed this release for a very long time.”

Kirk gripped Spock’s shoulder tightly, gratefully. “You could be right, I don’t know. But I guess I do feel a little—a lot better now. I need you, too, you know. I think . . . if I have you beside me, can deal with just about anything. As long as I have your help and friendship.”

“Jim.” Spock laid his hand briefly over Kirk’s. “You shall always have both.”

Kirk smiled warmly, eyes pricking again, but this time with a very different kind of tears. Spock looked away, suddenly uncomfortable again. He dropped his hand, and some of his barriers snapped up once more—but never again as tightly as before.

Kirk cleared his throat. He glanced around and grinned ruefully, his eyes twinkling with some of his old teasing. “I think we’ve been sitting on this damned deck quite long enough, don’t you? Unless you want to play craps while we’re down here. And, before you ask what that is—”

“I know what they are,” Spock replied, standing. He smiled slightly and reached out his hand to help the Human up. “And I believe I will pass. It is difficult enough to beat you at chess.”

Kirk held the Vulcan’s hand tightly for a moment before he released it. Part of him was not ready for Spock to leave just yet, but he knew the Vulcan would be on duty in a few hours and needed his rest badly after the events of the last few days.

“It’s late, Spock. You’d better go get a little sleep.”

Spock also seemed reluctant to depart. “If you wish, I could come by as soon as my shift is completed tomorrow . . .?”

Kirk’s eyes glowed softly. “I wish very much,” he said quietly. “I might need a shoulder to cry on.”

“I will be here,” Spock promised.

Kirk sat down on the bed after Spock had left, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his heart.

“I know you will, Spock,” he whispered. “I know you will.”


End file.
